


what's yours is mine

by captainhurricane



Category: Thief (Video Games)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-10
Updated: 2013-06-10
Packaged: 2017-12-14 12:56:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/837130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captainhurricane/pseuds/captainhurricane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a thief in the night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	what's yours is mine

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Что было твоим – станет моим](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1133642) by [llaudat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/llaudat/pseuds/llaudat)



> yeahh I don't know what this is. A tiny tribute to our favourite thief and a nod to the reboot.

There are words woven into the fabric of the City, words that make the City and its residents who they are. The sight of the City's lights from the top of the towers are tiny spots of life in the midst of inpenetrable darkness. There you live, footsteps quiet and quick. The heavy smell of the factories and the humans lingering in the air. You are woven into the fabric more tightly than any; you, the survivor, the eye who sees and the one with the gold in your heart. The City spreads out around you, inviting and huge. You are just trying to survive, you say. Yet you cannot deny the thrill the chase, the sneaking gives you; the moment when you take a breath and send your arrows flying. That moment when your fingers finally curl around your prize; whetever it is a noble lady's diamonds or a silvery spear. 

An agent of fate, the quickest thief in the City. That is you. Your voice rough with sleepless nights and the nightly winds, eye that is not yours whirring and zooming to sights you shouldn't be able to see. Just trying to survive, you are, yet you are a part of the City and it is a part of you. You who doesn't believe in the red of the Builder or the green of the Trickster; even after all that happened, even after his words rang in your head when you were struggling to breathe under the heavy weight of the vines. It is easier to be this way, to drink in the night, to melt into the shadows like you were never there. Stealing is simple and you are good at it (and you know you are). Destinies and prophecies belong to the minds of mad men and metal monsters. Not to wind-swept men like you, not to thieves with all-seeing eyes and lightning-fast arrows.

"At this point, I doubt anything will surprise me," you murmur to yourself as you stop for a moment on the rooftop. You've settled in nicely to your newest home; a massive clocktower reminiscent of the one you once made fall. The plans are on the paper in front of you, the path already clear to the newest target. Your fingers itch to touch a new treasure; diamonds and gold and the coldest silver. You breathe deeply and look forward. Somewhere, rats squeak and a drunken group of guards talk to each other in too loud voices. Somewhere, a Hammerite prays and a Pagan sneaks. Somewhere, your target sleeps, unassuming. It is time.


End file.
